Love is watching someone die
by Anrheithwyr
Summary: Love is watching someone die. Love is knowing that good-bye is not always forever. Love is knowing that some good-byes aren't always worth it, but you say it anyway.


_**Written for the 'February Femslash Challenge' by percychased.**_

_**Written for the 'If You Dare Challenge' by Slytherin Cat, using prompt # 999, love is watching someone die.**_

_**Written for the 'Duct Tape Competition' by lezonne, using **_Pink: A bold color, so write you OTP.

_**Written for the 'Journey to Hogwarts Challenge' by Cheeky Slytherin Lass, using **_g. Ollivanders Wand Shop- The part you've been waiting for! A wand of your own. You eagerly make your way into the shop, and the old wand maker helps you find the perfect match for you.

Write about your OTP using the quote "Kiss me, and you will see how important I am."- Sylvia Plath for inspiration

_**Written for the 'Ten times Ten Challenge' by she who is made of stars, using Spell: Protego.**_

_**Warnings for implied familial rape. **_

…

"_Kiss me, and you will see how important I am."-Sylvia Plath_

…

(Love is watching someone die.

Love is knowing that good-bye is not always forever.

Love is knowing that some good-byes aren't always worth it.)

Pansy loved Astoria-that was the only thing she knew with any sort of confidence. She had screamed it from her rooftop once or twice, _I love you, Astoria Greengrass_, but she hadn't done anything about it yet.

After all, Astoria was still sleeping downstairs in one of the Parkinson's many extra bedrooms, head buried under three layers-minimum-of blankets, curled up into a little ball like a scared child too afraid to come out during a thunderstorm.

And Pansy loved her, loved every strand of her strawberry blonde hair, and she loved the grey-green eyes that were so big and innocent. She loved the way Astoria held herself up like a leaf in the wind, trembling in the dark, when they held each other so tightly.

Pansy loved Astoria, certainly much more than she loved herself or anyone. She loved Astoria….were there words to describe the kind of affection she had for her best friend, her beautiful Astoria? Were there even words grand enough to explain what was so special about her?

Pansy loved Astoria, who was amazing and perfect and a million other things that made her infinitely better than Pansy could ever hope to be.

(The best part of all? Astoria loved Pansy back.)

Pansy could have done backflips or screamed from the rooftops, but instead, she collected blankets for Astoria, prepared warm soup for her, and worried that the younger girl would never wake up.

She had seen bruises on many girls before-she had seen the scared looks on their faces when someone touched them _right _there, where the skin was turning purple and it hurt to let your shirt touch. She knew what pain felt like.

(She had carried the bruises herself, once upon a time.)

Pureblood daughters and wives were expected to obey and listen, be thoughtful but quiet, and to _always _listen to their men. Pansy had once wanted that life, when she had been younger and more foolish about how men worked.

She had thought she could change things, if she could only get Draco to love her enough. If he loved her too much, then maybe she could be one of the lucky few who got a life without covering bruises or poorly disguising the marks his fingers left on her skin.

Instead, she caught him in bed with one girl, and then another, and a third. He had blamed her, claiming she didn't love him enough, and that she didn't love him properly-that no one did. Pansy was cast out of Malfoy Manor with nowhere to go, and no desire to return to her father.

(Her father had been her first…everything. The first one to hold her, the first one to hug her, the first one to hit her, the first one to…_touch _her in that special way.)

When Astoria had begun going over to Draco's more and more, Pansy tried to warn her; she tried to tell her that Draco wasn't a good person, and she showed Astoria the bruises. But Astoria was young and naïve, like Pansy had been.

(She was delicate, though, even with her determination, and no amount of _I love you _was going to stop her skin from bruising and her bones from cracking.)

And now, every time, Pansy opened her arms for the younger woman, inviting her in to sleep in a bed and eat some of their food, knowing Astoria would always go back to Draco in the end.

(Because Astoria loved Pansy-but she loved Draco as well, and he could give her what she wanted: a stable home and a child.)

Astoria was always there for Pansy, as Pansy was there for Astoria. They were good friends, separated by two and a half years in age. She had been there for bright moments in Pansy's life and darker moments as well.

They were-maybe even-best friends, swearing over a cup of tea that they'd always be together, as the two young pureblood girls who had thought they could change the world.

Astoria had been there for Mr. Parkinson's funeral, holding Pansy's hand so very tightly as Pansy's father was burying, assuring her that everything was fine, that things were better now that Mr. Parkinson was dead. Pansy was safe now.

Astoria was not.

(It's strange, but the two greatest days in her life are the day her father dies and the first time Astoria ever came over and said those magical words: _I love you_.)

If Pansy could only just convince Astoria that the best place for her was in a bed, next to Pansy, the two of them lying together in the darkness as they talked about the most unimportant things they could think to talk about.

But, every time, Pansy would draw her over, offering love and comfort and support, and Astoria came running as fast as she possibly could-it never lasted. She never stayed, though Pansy begged her to, because Astoria loved Pansy, but she was a Malfoy by name now, and Astoria was carrying a Malfoy.

(It was only ever then, when she first found out, that Pansy wished she was a man, so that the child growing inside Astoria was hers, and not Draco's.)

Pansy peeked into the room where Astoria was sleeping, watching her with something less than contentment in her eyes. Astoria had run to her last night, bruises under her shirt, kissing Pansy so fiercely. Astoria was so important-_so damn important_.

(But, were her kisses worth the constant heartbreak?)

She had wrapped Astoria up in a protective spell, whispering _Protego_, knowing it would never be strong enough to protect Astoria or the baby. She wrapped her up in protective spells, begging whatever deities were out there to _keep this one safe._

_She's mine. _

Astoria had been there from the very beginning, ever since Pansy had stood over her father, watching him breathe his last. She had held Pansy's hand as Pansy's father died, and they had kissed each other even as Mrs. Parkinson rushed in to find her husband dead.

They had watched a man die and they had fallen in love-was it any real wonder that Pansy had never had a conventional love life? She had fallen in love amongst the death of her father, the first man to _make _love to her, the first person to teach her that love and _making love _weren't always the same thing.

But her father was dead now, and Astoria was lying in bed, carrying Malfoy's child. Pansy could never get her innocence back-her father had taken that, in the same way that Draco had stolen Astoria's innocence and gaiety.

That didn't stop Pansy from loving Astoria though, and that didn't stop Astoria from running back to the only person who truly loved her every time. Pansy took her in, because she knew that a light on the shore is worth a thousand years in a starless sea.

(Love is watching someone die.

Love is saying good-bye, knowing that she'll always come back.

Love is…just _being _with Astoria, even for a moment.)


End file.
